Head down, eyes cast away, and silence maintained; all the proper etiquette of a...pet. Frail of form, delicate, and pleasing to the eyes in all those ways...skin of olive with a golden hue--Leone wore nothing. She kept her palms on her knees, and her knees together--the apex of attempts to maintain her dignity and modesty best permitted by her circumstance.
At the feet of her owner.
Seven others, like him, sat comfortably on wicker-vine seats--rounded backs to form artistic stylizations depicting the trees they were magically grown from. Each one, fit to perfection. Chiseled forms long-tested by the passage of time and the grasps of many hardships. Not unlike the simian, black-haired pet’s own skin--each had a deep and bronzed skin, covered in qhai-rich inkings. Each whirl and mark mimicked plants.
Thorned trees, for some. Gangly and sprawling tendrils for others. Ivies and roses, on a few. To crest their heads, they wore living-wood masks; likewise marked as their flesh was. Clothing woven of foliage, from the same domain as they owed so much else, clung to their muscular bodies--tight-corded bands or knotted belts to keep them there.
Though those masks covered much, they left room for the defining feature of their kind.
The ears.
Long, pointed, and almost blade-like in shape.
Far from the first, and presumably--for her--far from the last such gathering she’d ever be...decorative to, Leone seldom paid attention to their discussed topics. But she paid attention, now, as soon as it dawned on her.
A tense, uncomfortable silence.
They were alert, keening their kesem-honed senses. The arts whispered to them by the trees and spirits of their ancestors, druidry, offered them all higher awareness.
Leone tried to backtrack to what they were discussing just before the quiet hijacked their discussion. Her brows--dark, oval things; thick as they were small upon her face; drew together in concentration.
A glade moot--one such as this occasion now--wasn’t a particularly serious affair. There, miles above the ground, and deep within the greatwood canopy...seated openly on a colossal branch...their gatherings often reflected no more than an exchange of recent events across the corners of their society. And try as she might...she couldn’t think of any special subject that could...give them such pause.
But of course it wasn’t a pet’s place to ask.
Her owner spoke to break the silence, lavender voice tinged by an elvish smoothness only they possessed. “There can be no stronger omen than this,” he declared. The others agreed by posture. “Let us make our preparations and hone our spears. The moment the Hyloss invade our territories, they will be met by singing arrow and howling point.”
As he rose, so did the others. They began their departure, but he lingered a moment to put a few fingers on his pet’s head. “Come, little one.”
She stood, keeping her eyes closed until fully arisen to her feet.
Taking the knotted cord leash--which hung center in the shallow vale of her breasts--then looping his palm once, and along a second time around two fingers; he led her onward. He needn’t’ve awaited the pressure on her golden collar, before she began following--catlike in grace and equally silent--behind him, just after his first step.
His thoughts kept him quiet along the lampfly path.
And Leone, subserviently meek, didn’t dare disturb them. Her own thoughts wandered to her mother. Concern given birth by the mention of the Hyloss.
Her earliest and the most stubborn of her memories involved both.
Under a night sky, bathed orange and drowning in smoke, that memory retold its tale. If, perhaps...just a little bit pushed.
She could recall her mother’s panicked breathing. The rush and screams in every direction, knowing the people of their village were all fleeing in the same direction. Through the palmy brush and toward the ocean.
Their pursuers hounded them like hunting dogs. Hungry and jubilant, red-glowing eyes near indistinguishable from the flames of their razed homes. Their numbers thinned as they struggled to reach safety--taken down by spear or arrow to provide an ever-constant...incentive...to keep moving.
Safety...and the boats.
When they arrived, though, they stopped. Stunned. Some wailed, the full weight of realization pulling them down to their knees. The boats and docks, all, stood ablaze too. And those of their kind waiting aboard the reed-woven boats, slaughtered.
Arrayed in bone, fur, and feather--Hyloss hunters waited near the docks. Maleficent silhouettes against the flames and water. They moved in for the kill, their bloodthirsty glee somehow undeniably present even with the feathered bone-masks they wore over their faces.
But before they could pounce, the ground parted.
Roots erupt. Some impaling their targets. Some only scattering others--those keener than their pierced brethren. Chasers in the brush were snatched by vine and branch, and a distant cry filled the air--drowning out the deafening tension and terror. A thornhawk’s shrill call.
Soroly--those elves who professed to the faith of plant and herb--arrived to engage their most hated foes. And in doing so…
Surely, you can guess, dear onlooker.
It came with a price, but so did all things. That...was just the nature of alpha and omega.
Leone...had been all that her mother could offer. And the leader of those saviors of theirs...the phytodruid Lavass of Orenvlu, accepted it. Raised her like a pet. Something warm, soft, and...female...to drape his lap and hold against his side.
She played the part well. But I wasn’t satisfied with this story. And I could see in her soul...a dormant and proud creature. Waiting...for the right inspiration.
Seized by her distraction as she was, Leone walked right into her owner’s back--completely unaware he’d stopped. And startled herself back to the present. He turned, looming, to regard her. “Yes…” he mused to himself.
She stiffened, meeting his obfuscated gaze with her own--orange--eyes. Quick to remember her place, she bowed her head apologetically and cast her eyes back to his feet. Mimikry of where she belonged.
Lavass turned his head. Leone dared relax. At first. “Gear and arm her,” he commanded--the many orange braids of his hair swinging behind him, and knotted jewelry within them glinting against the rare splinters of sunlight to reach so far to them.
Servants of his household moved quickly--bringing armorvine and ironsilk; materials which drank of metal and bloomed into strength.
Leone kept her composure--shutting her eyes and letting herself be manipulated into place. Arms were lifted at her sides, and the twin--low--tails of her black hair raised out of the way so they could begin wrapping her in silk and armor.
“Ready a zephyreme as well,” Lavass ordered--holding his chin in thought while he watched Leone become arrayed like a hunter.
With a bowed head, his servant asked him “Blades and fangs to crew it, elder?”
“Only a few. We hunt.”
“At once.” The servant bowed lower and hurried away.
By force of will alone, Leone managed to keep herself from grunting as two elves on either side of her violently tightened the vines over her chest. The completed ensemble best resembled tight-wound, fibrous green bone over her lithe form. Inspiration--as had come all things, for the elves--drawn from the natural world “gifted” to them.
What other purpose could bone serve, but to protect?
No weapons were given to her. Just yet.
But they all left the grown manor to head for the skydocks. A long climb, up branch-woven paths. After so many years living there, Leone drank in none of her surroundings. Could she say she was anywhere, but home, if she didn’t even see what surrounded her so?
By way of their kesem arts, the elves had infused will with plant and bowed nature to their needs. The trees, themselves, grew to form their homes--hollowing to form roads through their trunks...and spawning branches to coil about in formation of structures. Bowl-like plateaus to be their farms, nets of branch and leaf to join together overhead as domes. In this...the druids were supreme within their society--and all others existed to serve them, as the trees served them.
At the apex of the particular tree they climbed; a flat, sprawling platform stretched outward in multiple directions. Nestled between branches, on firm cradles, the oblong forms of numerous ships. Twin rows of elven soldiers waited on the pier leading to one of them. Across from them, a group of young druids--under the tutelage of an elder--channeled their qhai into a gargantuan seed.
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The elder bowed in acknowledgment of Lavass, wearing no mask--only a thin-branched circlet. His students, bare circlets.
Green light flashed into Lavass’ eyes--availing to him the kesem patterning infused into the seed. Within, he could behold its future: to grow well and strong, into the shape of another zephyreme. He waved them on with approval, and continued past his assembled guards.
Each guard adorned an ankle-length white robe, concealing solely the waist down--fastened in place with the aid of an armorvine belt and green loincloth. Their torsos, shins, and forearms were grasped in the same armoring as Leone wore--but unlike her...their skulls were gripped by leaf-plumed helmets; solid things except for the downward L-shaped slits availed for their eyes. As Lavass and his entourage passed them by, they uniformly stepped in. Turned. And followed in behind, with a sharp and exact manner. As they moved, their shields and spears remained taut and undisturbed--consisting of ironbark and woven armorvine. Those shields stood as tall as them, and knowing well the height of elves...intimidated more than a few would-be barbarians. Scarlet thorns lined the front--daring an enemy to clash with it.
Leone had been cargo on plenty of ships. Her owner seldom went airborne without her at his feet. She followed him to his usual place--a rooted throne underneath a canopy formed of twin rows of leafy branches spidered together overhead.
Once all came aboard, Lavass began to channel.
The throne drank of his power, and the cradle adjusted--ebbing the ship forward. As green energy wound its way through the vines and branches of the ship, a second--far greater--canopy unfolded. Sibling branches spread out--flexing their webbed fingers. Spiraling circles of runes materialized brightly between them, and the zephyreme took to the sky. Its wings pushed through the air, driving them onward.
“Prepare a space,” Lavass ordered--holding a hand out in command.
His guards and servants cleared away from the front.
Keeping his hand forward, and shutting his eyes--he directed his power to the area. The ship’s bow unraveled and spread out, becoming a circular platform before sinking to assume bowl-like shape. Runes thrummed to life along the ship’s underside, and the wingbranches gently swung forward. They braced over the bowl, and the ship stilled.
Only then did Lavass lower his hand and reopen his eyes--casting his gaze to Leone. “Go and wait, pet..” Drifting to waiting servants, he commanded spear and shield to be brought to her.
In the midst of her stride to the bowl, Leone took them. Nerves invisibly coiled along her bones, and clutched at her throat. She knew what that bowl meant. Dignity alone stopped her from scanning the skies. Instead, always continuing forward.
Lavass remained seated. Tense.
Aware.
Though he trained his eyes forward and on his prized plaything, he wanted to search the skies. More than that, he wanted to look around himself. Hunt, from the rim of desperation and a sense of fear he’d never known before, for the source. Somehow, he couldn’t make himself shut his eyes and meditate it away. That made his flesh crawl even more.
His thoughts began to run away from him, painted across the crevices of his skullmeat for me to read aloud. What’s going on? This isn’t like a premonition before attack. Have the Hyloss found their way to a darker art?
Leone waited at the bowl’s edge, shaded from the glowering sun. It warmed her skin, and she welcomed that. And so high from the ground, at the mercy of every draft and whip of air, a good comfort.
“Lay meat,” Lavass commanded his servants.
Two sets of them retrieved tall baskets and carried them to the bowl. They tossed the containers to its center, letting the tops spill off and their contents topple out. Rich crimson and pink, fresh hunting.
Free.
Leone’s nerves jumped.
She wanted the servants to stay, but it was no human’s place to speak to elves such a way. So she stayed quiet. Enduring the sense of abandonment that came with their departure. Back to safety.
Her grip on the knotted spearshaft tightened.
It impressed me, that she wasn’t letting her thoughts run rampant in panic. Only those so conceited and self-important as Jaalag and Lavass lay so awake at night with the company of their thoughts. Fearing the fall.
And now, at last, came what they all clenched their bellies for.
A shape amongst the blue eternal.
Bright and majestic.
When Leone saw it, she could no longer hold back her nerves. They didn’t scatter and scream beneath her skin as they did for the others. But spread and smothered over her, gentle and powerful. A mirror to the grandeur of what landed in the bowl.
Her breath stilled and crawled.
Her eyes widened.
Grip softened.
In awe.
There.
Here.
Now.
Majesty wore alabaster fur. A cloud-like mane. Regal, proud frame. Muscle like they were hewn of the oldest mountains. Paws, which though clawed sable and seeming for all the world like they could tear apart the zephyreme...looked plush. And warm. Snow-pale feathered wings, at once spread like twin banners to threaten the sky...slackened and folded at its sides. It drew a quiet gale into its nostrils, lifting its head to behold the crew. Lavass and Leone, in its gaze--equal as sand and water. Glassy, great orbs--flanked black to crest a flat, rounded snout.
The beast strode forward. Every footfall deliberate as they were casual. Soundless as they landed.
It gently exhaled while bringing its face to the meat. Cooled and comfortable under the offered shade, it let itself thump onto its side. The ship shifted, briefly, under its settling. Paws curled forward, and flexed-forth claws pulled the meat closer. All the while, it held its head aloft as though its station in nature stood supreme. And absolute. Not for all the realm and all the void, beyond, the merest...iota...of even a memory of concern.
It lowered its head, cocking it aside and availing great teeth. A forest of bone, neat and immaculate, forth from blackest soil. And it began to eat.
Leone’s mind went somewhere else, transfixed as the rest of her was by the sight.
To her mother, again. A warmer...softer memory. Being held tight. Rocked and hummed to, near the warmth of a hearth. Safe and beloved, on the ground--not miles above it where all things swayed and creaked.
She remembered there, her mother’s warm words.
Telling her… “Your father is gone, my sweet child. But through you...I’ll never forget him. I named you for him, who was named for…” she lifted her head and wore a distant, fond smile before she continued, “The very spirit of majesty itself. King of sky and land, made flesh.” That warm gaze returned to her. And that smile grew wider. “Some day, I hope you’ll see one. And maybe you’ll remember this, and through this, remember him. Remember my Leo...the day you see a solion, the emperor of cats.”
“Kill it, child,” Lavass ordered--tearing her out of the gentle arms of her past.
Leone stiffened, a startled breath escaping her.
The solion didn’t even care. Its rounded ears didn’t move in the slightest of acknowledgment, while it ate.
Lavass furrowed his eyes. Concentrating. Waiting for the omen he wanted to see. He had long decided that if the...foul cold coiling his soul meant fangs over his throat, then his pet would just die there. But if, by remaining near her, he felt this by proximity...then surely, she would display it by victory--spared the ire of the sky’s sovereign.
But something unexpected happened, instead.
Something...decidedly worse.
Leone steeled herself and turned. Away from solion. Kill this creature? Attack something that came here of its own will? She cast her orange eyes straight onto him, and held her chin high. “No.”
The druid’s thoughts and concerns of omens evaporated in an instant. His heart leapt to his throat and he stiffened his back, straightening. It took a moment to sink in.
“What?” he demanded, deliberate and stern.
Disbelief propped him to his feet. Out of his throne. “You...you of all lowly, simian, mudcrawling…” he couldn’t find what words best satisfied him, and impatience took over. His eyes grew, and his fury kindled itself hot. “Are you daring defy me? Your owner, your master...your...savior? Your GOD?”
Rage coiled and roared in his skull, every ember and tongue of irous flame fanned greater--fueled by the unwavering stare of his...belonging!
“Obey me!”
“I will not,” she answered--the same dignity which she once carried on delicate shoulders for his behalf...now reared before him. “I’ll die before I point my spear at something as awesome and great, and before it’s ever born ill against me.” The drafts and whirls of the wind, which she thought first to have held her within their mercy...now became her.
“Yes...you will,” Lavass agreed--thinning his eyes at the spear pointed in his direction. His soldiers banded together, pressing shield-to-shield and lowering their spears at her. He scowled. “Your defiance will be paid in the only price fitting. And your people, with you. I won’t have...monkeys showing teeth at ME!”
RRRH!
I grinned.
Even fools know the law that goes unspoken.
The solion rose behind Leone, its eyes filling with sunlight and its mane spreading. Gently flailing, glorious, around its body as tendrils of light infused with even fiber. Its wings spread. Its talons flashed bright--thrumming with power.
Cold bled into the faces of the warriors before it.
Terror painted their eyes, and their stances faltered. Heads, on instinct, trying to turn--but on will, trying to remain; so quivering atop their necks.
Lavass realized his mistake--drifting his eyes to the beast.
I curled my talons about his jaw...and I leaned my lips to his ear. I carved meaning along his skull. Reminding him his folly.
One does not...disturb...the meals of kings.
Leone shut her eyes.
Lavass’s drew wide as his skull allowed, and his breath shuddered.
The solion reared its head and roared.
Streaks of light, all around the ship, instantaneously leapt. They straightened, sharp and angular, right through the zephyreme--searing through it at once. The solion’s light seared flesh, bone, and vine all as easily as lifting one’s hand through air.
Everything touched--directly--by the light, erupt flame.
Lavass shrieked and leapt back, channeling his kesem. The carved-up carcasses of his servants spilled in the same instant the diced ship began to sink from the air. “O-o-oo-ooh-- NOOO!”
The solion sprang off the ship--stirring howling winds with a singular beat of its wings, throwing the already falling zephyreme aside.
Leone reopened her eyes as she was falling. Untouched by the rays. She smiled as she saw the solion flying away, and let go of the shield and spear. Knowing with every fiber of her being that the drop was not going to be survivable...her smile refused to part from her. “Mom…” she mumbled--unable to hear herself over the roaring winds around her, “You were right. I remember. And it’s...beautiful.”
She shut them again. Not expecting they’d ever open again.
And becoming ignorant to the shape that descended after her.